


The Secrets of Wayne Manor

by MaxCrazy7



Series: From Krypton to Gaia Universe [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Angst, Crossover, F/M, First Meetings, Identity Porn, Love Triangles, M/M, Mystery, New 52, Romance, Succubi & Incubi, Supernatural Elements, Unrequited Love, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxCrazy7/pseuds/MaxCrazy7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Wayne Manor's walls could talk; they'd tell you about all kinds of the dark secrets, but they can't which is very fortunate for those involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Please, don't hurt my son! I'll do whatever you want, please just don't hurt him." Martha Wayne begged the man holding a gun to his eight-year-old son's head, after the man had killed her husband in the little alley behind the Monarch Theatre. 

"Mom," Bruce whimpered.

"Its okay honey, everything is going to be fine." She said trying to reassure him. "Come on, let my son go, it's me that you want, right?" She said moving slowly toward them. The gunman tightened his grip on Bruce, pressing the gun harder to his head.

"Alright!" she said halting her steps, and raising her hands up the air. "You got me," she told him in a shaky voice. "Please, spare my son," She begged him as he pointed the gun toward her, and---fired.

"MOM!" Bruce screamed, as he broke his captor's hold on him, and run toward his mother as she fell on the ground.

"Mom, please don't die!" Bruce cried shaking her. Martha looked up at her son, and tried to talk, and then her eyes widen in fear. "Run," she told her son with her last breath. Trembling, Bruce slowly turned around, and froze.

The killer was aiming at him.

 He stared at the gun; it was all he could see, everything else around, just darkness. Like watching a picture in slow motion, the killer's index finger squeezed the trigger. A loud bang, followed by excruciating pain, and then blessed darkness overcame him, as he lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

"This is turning into a circus already," said Detective Sam Bradley to his partner while driving up to the crime scene. It was slow going. The news of the Wayne's' murder had spread like wildfire, and it seemed that every Gotham's news stations were already at the scene, along with various onlookers. To protect the crime scene integrity, the police had set up multi-level containment. Roads were blocked to keep unauthorized vehicles away, and foot traffic routed elsewhere.

"What do we have?" asked detective Bradley to a patrol officer.

"Two dumb rich people, who apparently didn't know how dangerous it is to be walking at night in Gotham wearing expensive jewelry." He replied.

"Watch your mouth! You are talking about Thomas and Martha Wayne here!" Bradley's partner told him.

"What! It's true, what the hell were they doing in a back alley in the first place?"

His partner sighed.

"Anyway, the theatre manager told us that the Wayne had rented the whole movie theatre for the night, so they could watch the advanced screening of 'The Mask of Zorro' with their son." he informed Bradley, and added, "I guess the rich have their own definition of movie night."

"It's possible they took a shortcut to get to their car.," said Bradley looking the theatre direction.

"I thought these rich types have chauffeurs to drive them around."

"Apparently Mr. Wayne was driving tonight."

"Like I said, dumb."

"Any valuable they had on them had been taken."

"So what? Mugging gone wrong."

"Do they ever go right?"

"The child saw everything, right?" asked his partner.

"I can't believe the bastard shot the kid."

"Probably didn't want to leave any witness behind."

"It's a good thing we found him when we did. I hope he makes it."

"The kid is a tough one."

"Who called it in anyway?"

"Anonymous caller; he wouldn't give his name."

"Figures."

"Any other witnesses?"

The officer snorted, "This is Gotham, home of the blind and deaf."

"Man, I hate working high profile cases."

"We are going to be under serious heat to find the killer."

"Finding a mugger in Gotham is like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"People are murdered everyday in Gotham, it's only when some big shot got iced that everyone seems to care."

"Well for generations the Wayne Family's business ventures had bolstered Gotham's economy, helping the city to flourish. It's only normal that people would want justice for them."

"Oh we are so flourishing now."

"Well they did their best."

"In this fucking city doing 'your best' gets you killed."

"So the usual suspects?"

"Suspects? I thought we were going with the mugging gone wrong angle."

"We have no idea if it is really one, until Bruce Wayne tells us what happened here. It might be a hit made to look like one."

"Aw man, I really don't like where this going."

"We'll have to check every possible leads. Like who benefits the most from their death. Starting with family members to business partners. So let's get to work people!"

~~~~~~~~

Philip Wayne hated going to high society functions, just like his older brother Thomas. They thought it was a waste of their precious time. However, lately, Philip found himself going to these more and more often, as his older brother kindly asked him to go in his stead, like tonight masquerade ball, so he could spend some quality time with his precious son. Philip could not refuse his older brother. How could he?

During the recession, he had made the mistake of selling his shares of Wayne Industries, before it went bankrupt like so many other companies, and invested the money in foreign ventures instead. His brother had tried to talk him out of it, but he had not listened.

He had lost everything in a few years, while Wayne Industries continued to prosper.

Penniless, he had crawled back to Gotham with his wife; where they were living on his brother's generosity, with Martha monitoring every dollar they spent. She had not forgiving him for bailing out on them, when they needed his financial supports the most to keep the company running.

He had left the party earlier for a few hours, and now trying to sneak back unnoticed, when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

He stiffened.

"Mr. Wayne, can you please come with me.?" said a police officer.

He swallowed audibly and nodded.

People would come to him and offered their condolences as he followed the officer across the room. Some were heartfelt some were not. As soon as he was out of sight, these same people would call their lawyers, their brokers, their financial advisers to see how this situation will affect their finances. By the time, he reached the door he pretty much knew.

"What was it? A car accident?" he asked, the officer just shook his head. His wife burst out in tears when she saw him, he hugged her tightly. They both got into their car and drove away escorted by two patrol cars to Gotham City Medical Center.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, an old pawnbroker was following the breaking news on the Wayne's murder on his TV when a man came into his shop.

"Hey, how much can I get for these?" asked the man, voice quavering a little, pushing Martha Wayne's pearl necklace and Thomas' Rolex under the transaction window with a shaky hand.

The pawnbroker carefully examined the necklace, and then noticed the fresh dried blood on the watch. He looked up at the man and told him, "Five grand."

"You're kidding me these are worth way more," he complained.

"Yeah, but they're still hot. Five grand; take it or leave it sonny."

The man started to pace back in forth from the transaction window to the door, hesitating. "Okay," he said running a hand through his hair.

"I don't have all of it in front. Can you wait here for a minute while I get the rest in the back?"

"Sure," he said as the old man slowly walked back into his shop.

"What's keeping you?" he shouted after the pawnbroker had been gone for more than ten minutes.

"Hold your horses sonny; I'll be right with you."

"Hurry it up old geezer, I don't have all night!"

"Yeah yeah yeah," said the old man shuffling back. He started to count the bills, lost his count twice, and restarted again.

"You got to be fucking shitting me!"

"Will ya pipe down? I am trying to concentrate here."

Satisfied that he had the right amount after the third count, he pushed the five grand on the deal tray.

"About fucking time!" the man said taking the money, and counted it to make sure the old man gave him the correct amount before leaving. As soon as he got outside, a patrol car screeched to a stop, right in front of him.

"Fuck!" He yelled, and bounced off the door as he tried to get back inside the pawnshop.

The door was locked.

"You asshole sold me out!" He shouted at him; the old man flipped him the bird using both hands.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I am not armed, don't shoot!" he kept shouting, and raised his hands up as the cops carefully approached him. They slammed him against the hood of their patrol car, handcuffed him, with one officer searching him and the other reading him his rights. 

~~~~~~~~~

"I swear they were already dead when I lift the watch and the necklace from them, that's when I noticed the kid was still alive and called 9 1 1! I didn't even know it was the Wayne. I swear!"

"Aren't you the Good Samaritan?" sneered Bradley's partner.

"I did some pretty bad shits in my life, but I ain't a killer! You gotta believe me!"

"Yeah, right."

"Come on, tell the truth. You needed money for your next fix; you saw an opportunity and took it. Thomas Wayne fought back, and you shot him. You shot the wife when she started calling for help, and then the kid so not to leave any witness behind. Right?"

"Naw man, that's not what happen. You ain't going to pin that shit on me! No sir."

Bradley took his partner aside. "There was not a speck of gun powder residue on him; we still can't find the murder weapon, with so little evidence. Can we even charge him with murder?"

"He had the stolen goods, and left his fingerprints all over the crime scene. I think we got enough to build a case."

"Maybe he's telling the truth. He did call an ambulance for the kid."

"Remorse. So, any word from the 'Roman'?"

"He said we got our man."

"Alright! Case fucking closed!"

~~~~~~~~

Philip was lounging in the manor drinking, while pondering his situation. Thomas and Martha were dead, their only child in a coma. Still, his financial situation hadn't changed one bit. He should have known his brother wouldn't leave him anything in his will, but he hadn't expected Martha to choose the damn butler as their child's legal guardian. Why the damn kid hadn't died when he was supposed to? If he did, he could claimed his brother inheritance, and be the sole heir of the Wayne fortune.

"Dinner is serve sir, will you be joining madam at the dining room?" asked Alfred as he came to pick up the empty cans of expensive beers on the floor.

"Yeah, why not." He said getting up.

The butler was very pale, with dark circles around his eyes; his usually well fitting uniform was hanging on him. He had insisted to go on with his duties at the manor even though he didn't have to, while spending his free time at the hospital by Bruce's bedside.

The first night he had visited his nephew dearest at the hospital, he had stopped listening to the surgeon while he was informing him of Bruce's condition, too stunned to see the stoic Alfred sobbing uncontrollably as the nurses wheeled the comatose child into his room. However, he did remember the surgeon saying how lucky they were, for getting new supply of O Rhesus negative blood just in time for Bruce's surgery because they had run out. How in the hell did his nephew ended up with O- blood type when his father was AB+ like he was?

"Alfred," he said, as an idea became to form in his mind.

"Yes master Philip."

"What's your blood type?"


	3. Chapter 3

"How dare you!" snarled Alfred when Philip accused Martha Wayne of infidelity. The other man took a step back startled by the ferocity in the other man's reply, but pushed on anyway.

"You can drop the pretense of the loyal servant now, Alfred. After all, it must be hard to lose both your lovers so tragically, and have your kid in a coma."

Alfred's eyes widen in surprise.

"You think I didn't know about you and my brother. You were the reason why father enrolled Thomas in a Jesuit University instead of Harvard, and why Jarvis gave you the choice of joining the British Arm Forces or he will disown you. In the good old days, my father would be in his right to get you flayed for what you did to my brother. The only reason you were not charge with rape was to avoid a scandal."

Alfred swayed on his feet and quickly grabbed the edge of the table to keep him from falling. Mistaking the butler's dizzy spell for weakness he went on.

"At first I thought the hot Martha Kane had cured my brother of his homosexuality, but noooo she married my queer big brother just to get her overbearing dad off her back." He chuckled, "But you aren't gay, aren't you Alfie? Not even bisexual. You were fucking my brother just for kicks, and because his never home you could screw his wife all you wa---"

Alfred slapped him hard, splitting his lip.

"I've heard enough of your nonsense!" He barked at him.

Wiping the blood from his mouth Philip said between clenched teeth, "I kept my mouth shut for all those years, now I demand my dues!"

Fists clenched tightly, Alfred advanced on him and said in a menacing tone, "Oh I am going to give you your dues alright!"

"What's going on here?" asked Philip's wife looking at the two men who were staring dagger at each other.

"Nothing darling, Alfred, and I were just having a little chat." He said while pushing her in front of him out of the door.

"I'll make you pay for this," he said before leaving.

Alfred brought a trembling hand to his face, not believing he had lost his temper and ready to do violence. Unable to deal with the household duty now, he left for the hospital leaving his second in charge.

Alfred had arranged with the hospital to get his young master the best care money can buy, and even hired a security detail for him.

"Wow, isn't that a bit overkill?" had asked Dr. Tompkins.

"I am not taking any chances." He had told her.

"Good evening Mr. Pennyworth," said one of the private nurses Alfred had hired to take care of his young master, when he entered the room.

"Good evening Lea. How is he?"

"Sorry, still no change. Will you be staying overnight again?"

"Yes I am."

"You know Mr. Pennyworth you don't look so good, you should get some rest."

"Yes I know. I do feel like death warmed over, so I'll definitely take your advice into consideration."

"You do that," the nurse said with sympathy before leaving the room.

"Hey master Bruce how you feeling today?" he asked in a soft voice, but only the beeps of the life support machine answered him. "I brought you a new book today, ' _A Wrinkle in Time'_ by Madeleine L'Engle, sounds exciting isn't it?" he said taking a seat next to his bed. He opened the book, took a deep breath, and began to read.

" _The house shook. Wrapped in her quilt, Meg shook. She wasn't usually afraid of weather---It's not just the weather, she thought. ---It's the weather on top of everything else. On top of me. On top of Meg Murry doing everything wrong. School. School was all wrong. She'd been dropped down to the lowest section in her grade. That morning one of her teachers had said crossly, "Really, Meg, I don't understand how a child with parents as brilliant as yours are supposed to be can be such a poor student. If you don't manage to do a little better you'll have to stay back next year_."

He yawned. As he continued to read, the words started to blurred and he would lose his place, his eyes kept closing on their own. Five minutes later, his head fell back on the chair, the book fell off from his hands and dropped onto the floor. Alfred fell sound asleep from being mentally physically and exhausted.

One hour and half later, he started to dream.

Al's dream was to become an actor and live in the limelight, not in the shadow of some rich American snot-nosed spoiled brat, but his family tradition will condemn him as such, and he hated it. To be fair moving to the States to be his father's apprentice as a butler wasn't as horrible as he had thought it would be. He really did looked dashing in his butler uniform, and with his good look, impeccable manners, and not to forget his sexy British accent, he was able to catch the eyes of various young ladies working at the manor, and with all these empty rooms he was bound to have a lot of fun pursuing them.

However, he had also caught the eyes of his young introvert master. He had found it cute, how shy and nervous Tom was when he was around him. He would tease him mercilessly when no one was looking, and then things got complicated.

He was watching Patrick Wayne's eldest son standing in front of a mirror while struggling to undress, after he had hurt both of his hands in a fight. He was so helpless thought the butler in training, smiling slyly. Tom let out a groan of frustration and pain when he tried to undo his tie.

 In a seductive voice he asked, "Need a hand master Thomas?"

Tom looked over his shoulder and saw him leaning on the doorway. Looking so damn hot and sexy in his butler uniform.

He quickly looked away.

"No, I am fine." He told him; putting a brave face, he tried to undo the knot of his tie again, and then grimaced in pain.

He heard a soft thud, a click as the door closed, he quickly looked over his shoulder again, and with a suggestive smile, Alfred locked it.

"I insist," he said standing behind him, and slowly undid his tie, and leaning over him a little he whispered into his ear; "After all I am here to serve you, master."

Thomas shuddered.

"You want to be a surgeon, right? If so, those hands aren't meant for fighting, but saving lives, you should be very careful with them," he admonished. "I really need to teach you how to make a fist properly," he continued while undressing him. Tom's eyes followed those devilish white-gloved hands as they unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and let it fall around his ankles.

He stepped out of them.

Al was undoing the buttons of his shirts one after another, while looking at him in the mirror. Tom was pretty, being at that age when a boy wasn't quite a man; his voice hadn't even changed yet.

"I have so much to teach you," he told the teenage boy with a roguish grin, one glove finger tracing the outline of his collarbone. "I think you'll want to learn how to do certain things, but then again I guess adding a little self-defense wouldn't hurt. You are always so unguarded, so easy to take advantage of." He said, and stole a quick kiss from him.

Thomas lowered his gaze, blushing.

"See, what I mean?"

Alfred sighed.

"Next time some guy try to get fresh with you because he mistook you for a tomboy, don't go break your knuckles on his face okay? Just let me know, and I'll make sure he won't do it to you and anyone else again for that matter." He said angrily.

Tom nodded, a little embarrassed but happy nonetheless.

Alfred carefully removed his shirt as not to cause him any pain, and dropped it on the floor, letting his glove hands roamed on his young master's smooth bare skin.

"You're so beautiful, I can understand why even the guys at your school would want you, and you know what master? I want you all for myself too," he said kissing his neck. "Can I have you?"

Tom gave him a bold smoldering gaze that he didn't think the timid youth were capable of. It did things to him, things that he shouldn't be feeling, things he shouldn't be thinking of doing with Wayne's heir.

The cub grew up into a tiger, and he found himself being cornered by Tom in every turn, goading him to go all the way with him. 

Of course, their fathers found out about what they were doing, and separated them. He was finally free to live the life he had always wanted, and forgot about Tom. However, Thomas had never forgotten about him. Jarvis' last wished as he passed away was for him to continue the family tradition, so he resumed his role as the Wayne's butler. He couldn't help but feeling guilty when he discovered that Thomas was still carrying a torch for him over all these years, and wanted them to be back together.

"No one can get between us now." Thomas told him one night.

Sometimes when he was with Thomas, he would be hunted by the disappointment in his father's face when he had found Tom in his bed. He had no excused to give him then, and he'll never have one to give him. He was four years older than Thomas; an adult who should have known better, and did know better, but still that hadn't stopped him for taking advantage of the young naive curious Tom. He did it because he could, he did it because he was a Nobody that could screw a Somebody and get away with it. However, taking his frustration on Tom was wrong. Thomas had grown up to be a good man, different from the people of his status. He wished he had something to do with it, but he couldn't make such a claim. Now he was trying to rectify his mistake. 

"I think you made quite an impression on Ms. Martha Kane." Alfred said bringing a perfumed letter on a silver platter to his master on his study.

"Really? I could barely put two words together without stuttering while trying to talk to her. I made a complete ass out of myself, I hate parties." Thomas complained.

"You just need to socialize more."

"What for? and beside I am too busy at the hospital to go to parties."

Alfred sighed.

"Master Thomas---"

"We are alone no need for formality."

"Tom, you need to start looking for a wife." Alfred told him putting the tray on the desk.

"No."

"You have to!"

"Al---"

"You are now the head of the Wayne family, you have obligations, and one of them is to sire an heir."

"I don't care; one of my nephews could be the next heir."

"Well I do care. Bloody hell, this is my entire fault. I shouldn't have---"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence?" Thomas warned him.

"Look, we are living in hard times; marrying Martha Kane is a smart move to secure the financial security of both families, and on doing so Gotham's."

"I am not going to marry someone for economical reasons!"

"Okay then, go out with her, know her better, fell in love with her, marry her."

"What about us then?"

"We'll be---over."

"You don't mean that."

"I too have my duties."

"Since when do you care about duties?"

"My actions brought shame to both our families."

" _Your actions!_ loving me is not shameful Al."

"We were young and stupid, if our relationship was made public then and now---"

"It didn't, and if it does one day. I don't care of what people think or say about me. Anyway, the world is changing."

"Not fast enough!" Alfred exclaimed.

"So what? You want to give up on me, on us just to please society!"

"It isn't just about you and me, if the Wayne Family falls, a lot of good people will get hurt."

"You want me to sacrifice my happiness for the sake of others!"

"Don't be so melodramatic, I am sure she can make you happy just like I do, and the wonderful part is you won't need to hide your feelings for her from the world." He said kissing him softly on the lips.

"I cannot believe you are leaving me again."

"I'm not; I'll always be by your side. You just won't be mine anymore." He said caressing his cheek.

He had distanced himself from Thomas, and pushed him into Martha Kane's arms. After much work, Thomas had fallen in love with her. Even though Alfred was glad, the two had gotten together, making a perfect couple. He couldn't help but wondered why the bloody hell it hurt so much watching over them.

Awoken, Bruce witnessed the tears that wouldn't stop flowing from Alfred's eyes, as he cried in his sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

"Uncle Philip! Uncle Philip!" cried an overjoyed young Bruce while jumping into his uncle's arms as he entered the manor. Philip let out a grunt as he caught the boy, and spin him around, making Bruce laugh in delight.

"Give uncle a big wet one on the cheek, muah!" He said when the boy kissed him. "Look at you, you've gotten so big. How old are you now?"

Bruce showed him on his fingers.

"Six! Wow, you are a big boy now!"

Bruce nodded.

"So, how's my favorite nephew doing?"

"Silly uncle, I am your only nephew." Bruce giggled.

"You're right, and as my only favorite nephew I have a surprised for you." Snapping his fingers, a servant came to view and handed him an ornate gift bag. He presented it to the child.

"Neat, a kite!" the young boy said happily looking inside the bag. "Thanks Uncle Philip!" he said giving him another kiss.

"Good morning Philip, I hope you had a pleasant trip," said a sultry voice.

Philip looked up to see Martha Wayne coming down the stairs, who looked simply ravishing in her white and blue printed summer dress. He put Bruce down and walked toward his mother, and bowed to kiss her hand.

"My dear Martha, you are a sight for sore eyes. My wife and I had a nice trip, thanks for inquiring. You know, we cannot thank you enough for inviting us back to live with you at the manor."

"Of course my dear, that's what family do. You know, helping each other in time of need," she told him voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Mom look, Uncle Philip got me a kite." Bruce said running toward her.

"That's nice honey," Martha told him without even glancing at it, her gaze fixed on Philip, who now wished he could hide under a rock at the very moment.

"Can we go fly it?" the boy asked.

"Later honey mommy has some things to discuss with your uncle."

"But mom!" Bruce whined.

"Later." Martha said firmly.

Young Bruce sat down on the floor arms crossed pouting.

"This way," Martha said.

"Sorry kiddo, we'll play later," said Philip, mussing the boy's hair before following his mother in her study.

As soon as everyone was gone, Bruce picked up his kite and sneaked outside. Even though his mother told him not to leave the manor unsupervised, he deduced as long as he did not stray too far, he should be okay.

It was nice and windy, a perfect day for flying a kite. After multiple tries, he was able to get it off the ground and flying high in the sky. Eyes on his kite, and not paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't notice that he was getting further away from the manor and into the wood, and closer to the old well that his mother had commanded to be filled in the next day or so. He tripped on a bag of sand that fell loose from the stack near the well, and fell in. He kept falling down and down indefinitely, like the well was a bottomless pit instead of being only thirty feet deep. As he kept falling he saw that the well's wall was made of memories, his memories, and the further down he went, the closer he was getting to the event that led to his parents' murder. He saw the killer take aim, he shot his dad, then his mom, and now he was looking down the barrel of his gun.

"No!" he cried shutting his eyes tight.

However, nothing.

He reopened his eyes to see that he had reached the bottom of the well unharmed. He started shouting for help.

"Hey, help me!" he shouted when he saw the outline of a body at the mouth of the well, and gasped when he saw who it was. It was he; the boy looking down the well was he. He could see himself looking down the well at the same time he was looking up.

"Who are you?" the boy at the bottom of the well asked in a trembling voice. The other one didn't answer; instead, he crumpled his kite and threw it down the well at him.

"What are you doing? Hey, stop it!" he shouted when the other boy started emptying a bag of sand on top of his head.

"MOM! MOM!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, when he understood what his doppelganger was doing.

The other boy took his time, as he calmly and emotionlessly emptied bag after bag of sand inside the well, ignoring the other boy's cries and supplications. He continued to do so this until he could no longer hear him.

" _Nothing stays buried forever. One way or another it will all come up. You better be prepared for the consequences then,_ " a voice in the wind whispered menacingly to him.

The doppelganger looked down the well again, and saw nothing but sand.

Satisfied of his work, he left.

~~~~~~~

Alfred suddenly awoken from his sleep in the middle of the night by the young Bruce's heart wrenching cries coming from the baby monitor. He had installed one on the boy's room because of his frequent night terrors. He quickly put on his robe and run to his master's bedroom to try to calm him down. Bruce was trashing in his bed, swinging, punching, and trying to get away from him as he tried to comfort him.

"Jumping from the pan into the fire, hey Alfred?" Philip said looking smug while standing in the doorway.

"Oh go fly a kite!" Alfred said annoyed while trying to calm the child down so he would not aggravate his injury.

"Right, hey Bruce baby its uncle Philip. You are okay now darling; there is no need to be scared. It is over now, you are safe now." He cooed softly at his nephew.

"Boy you're heavy," he grunted when Bruce had calmed enough for him to pick him up. He sat in a chair with him and began to rock him back in forth, while softly talking to him.

Alfred gave the man a dirty look.

Not long ago, the son of a bitch was wishing that his nephew never came out of his coma. Now that he had, he was trying to win the boy's affection anyway he could. With Bruce being so vulnerable, he was worried that he might succeed. 

Later, Alfred anxiously led the two officers from GPD to Bruce's playroom. He breathe a sigh of relief when he saw that the boy had calmed down, and was quietly drawing on a table, the event of the night completely forgotten.

"Master Bruce, this is detective Sam Bradley and his partner. They would like to ask you a few questions. Will that be alright with you?"

Bruce tensed up, tightening his grip on his crayon.

"It's okay, I'll be right here with you." he assured the boy. "Go ahead detectives." he told the police officers."

"Can you tell us what happened the night you went to the theatre with your mom and dad?" asked detective Bradley.

Bruce shook his head in the negative.

"You do remember going to see The Mask of Zorro with your mom and dad, right?"

Bruce's face crumpled and started to cry.

"Hey, don't cry buddy."

"Come on Bruce; help us out a little will you?"

"Be brave for your mom and dad and tell us what happened okay?"

Bruce just shook his head still crying.

"You want us to punish the man who hurt your mommy and daddy, right?"

While sobbing Bruce said, "I can't remember anything."

"Come on Bruce, I know you are a bright boy. I am sure you can remember something.

"I can't remember."

"Really, I heard you have a pretty good memory."

"I said I can't remember."

"You don't need to be scared because---"

"I SAID I CAN'T REMEMBER! I CAN'T REMEMBER! I CAN'T REMEMBER! LEAVE ME ALOOOOOOONE!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, kicking the table, throwing his toys at the police officers.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the two detectives shouted as they retreated from the room.

~~~~~~~~

"What do you mean by dissociative amnesia?" detective Bradley asked Bruce's psychiatrist.

"Did you expect for the boy to observe every details of the assailant while he shot and killed his parent right in front of him? Such memories must be very traumatic for him. It's no wonder he's suppressing them."

"So, he didn't lose his memories?" asked his partner, hoping that Bruce might be able to identify his parent's killer.

"The memories are there, but deeply buried into his mind, making them difficult for him to recall."

"So therapy might help him remember."

"I wouldn't get my hope up detectives, one day he might remember what happened that night, or he might never remember them at all," the psychiatrist said before leaving.

"Oh fucking great our only witness is so fucking traumatized he can't fucking remember!" cried Bradley.

"Oi lay off the F word mate." said his partner.

"You don't understand. We have to play this by the rules because everyone is watching."

"So?"

"We have no witness, no murder weapon, we only got partial fingerprints, and the perp. is retracting his confession of robbing the Wayne's corpses. We didn't arrest him with the goods on him, did we? It is now his words vs. the pawnbroker."

"You think he might walk."

"We'll be lucky if we can charge him for robbery let alone murder."


End file.
